Amateurs
Have you noticed a dementor-like pall hanging about
the worlds of sport, entertainment and academia
as performance has become about money
and more money?
It starts in high school; sometimes junior high or earlier.
You can see it foreshadowed as tension
in the temples of certain teachers and
coaches struggling to keep their jobs.
I appreciate people’s talents.
But I also recall the sandlot.
During the days we shined brightly,
talent was a gift to be shared
not an asset to be traded.
Cards were traded.
They were also bent, banged up
and left outside in the rain;
not placed into protective custody
at the moment of purchase.
We played for the love of the game
not to be cheered by fanatics.
We played for the love of the game
not to prove we were fit to survive.
As amateurs, we’d yet to stumble
on the trappings of professionalism.
We had no thoughts of contracts and lawyers.
In the sandlot, we were all rich and famous
for we had friends.
We had no need for agents.
We were protected by our innocence.
Thank goodness for the minors
where love may still have some meaning.
It’s not too late to rip our leg-up out of the trap.
All we have to lose is our concessions.